


COLLIDE

by demondean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I wrote this instead of studying, I'm Bad At Tagging, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Sam is not a hunter anymore, at least until this fic happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-10-26 00:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demondean/pseuds/demondean
Summary: When John and Dean Winchester stumble across the existence of angels, the two Winchesters must be dealt with, especially if the angels' plan to get Dean to be Michael's Sword to wipe out humanity to get their Father's attention is going to work. Things get complicated when orders from Heaven start to contradict and no one knows why.Or, the fic where Azazel was dealt with before he could reach Sam, who became a lawyer and left the hunting life, and Castiel is infatuated with Dean's soul.Set before the series begins. Inspired by 'Lebanon' (14x13). Updates weekly.





	1. Hero

**Author's Note:**

> hiya! so for the time being, i've abandoned a&a and am working on this monster of a fic. i got the idea from the most recent episode, in which all kinds of things could be different if one little thing was changed in the past, so basically i got inspired and wondered what would happen if azazel's storyline never happened and destiel was the main focus. it's gonna be a bumpy ride, so hang tight!
> 
> not beta'd, so if there are any errors, let me know!
> 
> i appreciate any and all kudos and comments!!

The Wendigo roared one final time as it burned. Dean watched with a smug grin despite the blood dripping down his chin, pocketing the flare gun and helping the hostages to their feet.

“You saved us,” the brunette said tearfully, surging forward to clutch onto Dean, crying into his chest. He rubbed a soothing hand on her back, whispering warm words of encouragement. Once her sobs had quieted to sniffling, he led all three victims out of the basement of the abandoned house in the middle of the woods of Westville, Virginia. The house seemed to disappear as they walked away, leaving no trace of what had happened.

It wasn’t unusual for Dean to find himself in this forest, watching the creepy house literally dissolve from view, vanishing until another monster wanted to use it. After all, the Old House Woods were one of the most active paranormal spots in the country, and as long as people were stupid enough to come check out the ghosts, he’d have to come back again to save some other poor bastard.

Regardless, Dean thought it was a good hunt. He had been lucky to get out of this hunt with only a long scratch on his cheek and possibly a few cracked ribs from when the Wendigo had thrown him against the wall. It was unusual to see a Wendigo this far east, but these things could always move their hunting grounds, so he didn’t think much of it.

Once the group had made it to the main road, Dean pulled out his phone and called emergency services to stitch up the survivors. He gave them the monster talk, as he called it -- warning them to not talk about it, giving them his number if they ever got into trouble again -- and ducked back into the forest, making his escape before the authorities would find him. He was still on the wanted list in this area, so he knew better than to get tangled with hospital care, even though his injuries were really starting to hurt. 

An hour and a half later, he came to the clearing where he had parked his Impala, Baby, as he affectionately called her. He threw the flare gun and the rest of his weapons minus his gun and knife, which he kept on him at all times, into the trunk, and got into the front seat. He started the engine, turning up the music and pulling onto the highway, onto the next hunt.

~~~

He had been traveling for three hours, driving back to Bobby’s place, when his father called.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?” 

“Get to Boston as fast as you can. I’ll text you details, but most of it isn’t safe to say except in person.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up. Dean groaned, mumbling something about how there had better be pie and turned the car around, driving in the opposite direction towards Boston.

~~~

“Yeah, alright. Just let me know as soon as you’ve got something,” John said into his cell as Dean pulled into the motel parking lot. Dean got out, nodding to his father in greeting. 

“Took you long enough,” John grumbled and Dean avoided eye contact, mumbling a “sorry, sir.” It had been a year since the two of them had finally found Yellow Eyes and killed the bastard, but John was as commanding and aggressive as ever, and Dean was always willing to let his father take the lead, always hoping to make him proud.

“Alright. So I talked to Bobby, that son of a bitch, and he said that he’s never seen anything like it,” John said, shaking his head. “He said--”

“Like what?” Dean interrupted, concerned. He knew that if Bobby didn’t know something, then they were in a tough spot.

“Let me talk, boy, and I’ll tell you,” John growled, and Dean looked down.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

John rolled his eyes but continued. “Burns on the pavement in the shape of angel wings. Not paint, not a blowtorch, for all the hunter who found it could tell. We’re starting to think that angels may be a possibility.”

Dean scoffed, thinking that his father was joking, but was taken aback when John’s face only held grim honesty.

“Seriously?” Dean asked, incredulous. No way. Angels couldn’t be real.

“Serious as a heart attack,” John sighed and absently scratched his forehead. “We can check out the alley as soon as you’re settled in, but these might be be the most dangerous creatures we’ve ever seen. We'll have to be extremely careful.”

That made sense. Demons were powerful, yes, but they only had Lucifer as their leader, who, Dean supposed, was a fallen angel. Angels, however, were probably ordered around and powered by God Himself, so they’d be a lot more powerful than any demon they’d met.

“Wow, yeah, okay. I’ll get a room and we’ll head out. But, uh,” Dean paused, not knowing whether his father was ready for him to push this line yet.

“But what? Spit it out,” John said impatiently, leaning against his truck.

“Should we let Sam know? Ask for his help?” Dean asked tentatively. John’s face hardened.

“No, Dean. We will not be talking to Sam about this. He wanted out, he got out. He doesn’t get to pick and choose when he helps,” John said icily, and Dean nodded, though he disagreed.

“Yes, sir,” and that was the end of the conversation.

~~~

When the sun finally set in the sky, Dean and John drove to the alley behind the bar where the wing burn marks were. They quietly stepped out of their cars, and John moved forward deeper into the alley, his gun firmly in both hands. Dean was right behind him, both of them walking soundlessly and cautiously to where the burn marks were. When they arrived, John pocketed his gun while Dean kept a lookout. 

“The hunter who found these marks didn’t tell Bobby much before he was killed, but I’m guessing we aren’t supposed to know about angels,” John said. As Dean turned to reply, a dark figure leapt from the shadows, tackling Dean from behind. John shouted in surprise but was then focused on another figure moving towards him, narrowing his eyes when two, three, four more humanoid creatures joined it. 

Dean fought against the body on top of him and twisted violently, smacking his attacker with his arm. God, his ribs hurt from that Wendigo hunt earlier. When he had squirmed free, he looked at his father being cornered by five creatures, or were they angels? Whatever they were, Dean knew that his father didn’t stand much of a chance, and neither would he, if any others showed up. 

His attacker lunged at Dean again, but this time Dean was ready, and his fist met the angel’s cheek. The angel growled, and before Dean could do anything else, he felt strong hands grip his arms. One of the angels behind him kicked the back of his knee and he sagged in their iron hold, glaring defiantly as the first angel strutted up to him and painfully grasped his chin.

“What the hell are you?” Dean snarled, jerking his body, attempting to free himself. He heard his father shout a warning that was quickly followed by gunshots. 

The angel smirked. “What do you think, Dean Winchester?”

Dean’s blood ran cold. Okay, so they knew who he was, and thus had probably been watching him. That was never a good sign.

“You’re an angel.” A statement, no longer a question. The angel sharply nodded.

“My name is Jequn. Now, I would greatly appreciate if you,” he paused, then continued in a louder voice, directed at both Dean and John, “and your father would cooperate and make this easier for all of us. We just want to talk.”

John grunted as he was dragged to where Dean was, father and son sharing a mutually annoyed look. John had been overpowered more easily than he’d hoped, and he was not happy about it at all. The angels kicked the guns away from the struggling Winchesters, clearly enjoying their superiority over such weak and fragile humans.

Dean rolled his eyes as he focused back on Jequn.

“If you really just wanted to talk, then why not do this in a civilized manner? Sit down, have a beer, talk--”

“Shut up!” Jequn interrupted harshly, punching Dean directly in his face. Dean groaned but still smiled as blood dripped down his chin.

“What’s wrong? You got your feathers in a twist--ah!” Dean clenched his teeth around the yell that built up inside him when he felt a very thick, very sharp blade go through his left shoulder.

“That’s enough, Nanael,” Jequn said, frowning as Dean’s breathing turned ragged in response to the pain. Jequn was annoyed at the younger Winchester, yes, but he did not need to be injured to this extent. However, any mercy, especially around these angels, who were fighting for any chance to gain ground and rank higher in the garrison, could always be interpreted as weakness, and that was not a problem any of them needed at the moment.

John said nothing, simply studying the angels around him.

“And what about you, John Winchester? Any smart comments from you?” One of the angels holding John sneered, and John wrestled with the grip on his arm before letting his rage simmer down, knowing that now was not the time to fight and that he should conserve his energy and his anger for when they would need it.

However, Dean didn’t seem to understand this. Despite the white hot pain in his shoulder and the warm blood seeping through his jacket and shirt, Dean smirked. “Nah, he’s not as mouthy as me. I got all the smartass stupidity in the family.”

In response, Jequn nodded to the angels holding John and one of them touched his forehead, causing John to slump forward as he fell unconscious. Dean’s eyes widened slightly, but he did his best to keep a brave mask, unwilling to let the angels detect any sign of powerlessness as a result of his ignorance.

“I’ll offer you a deal,” he said, staring Jequn in the eye, never backing down. “You can have my ass, willing and obedient, if you let my dad go. Because I swear to you, if you don’t, I will fight tooth and nail to get free--”

“Yes, yes, you hurt anyone who hurts your family. We know your M.O., Dean, and I’ve got to say, it’s a little disappointing to be met with such…” Jequn sighed, waving his hands in the air as if searching for the right word, “predictability.”

“What I don’t understand is why you’re doing… whatever you’re doing to us. Aren’t angels supposed to be good little soldiers and not winged dicks?” Dean said, mocking them. The angel on his left, the one who’d stabbed him, dug his nails into Dean’s arm, surely leaving bruises.

Unfortunately, Jequn didn’t rise to the bait. “Dean, there’s a lot that will be explained to you in time. Right now, you will do as you’re told or you will be hurting a lot worse than you are now.”

To emphasize his point or really prove himself to be a sadist, Dean didn’t know, but Jequn stepped closer and gripped Dean’s hair, twisting his fingers and pulling Dean’s head back as Dean let out a noise close to a whimper that Dean will never admit to making. “We are not the unorganized, reckless demons you are used to. You will obey us, your father included, whether you like it or not.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Dean snarked and was punished for his sass with a hard slap across his cheek.

“Quiet, human,” Jequn said, and turned to the other angels. “We are not to kill them. We are only to bring them to the warehouse and let Zachariah talk to them. Let us not waste any more time.”

Dean felt cold fingers press against his forehead and the cool rush of _something_ in his veins. Finally, he fell into a deep, deep sleep.


	2. Barracuda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets Zachariah in a not-so-pleasant encounter. Castiel becomes curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is totally a dean whump chapter, but it needed to happen. sorry not sorry ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> also, i forgot to mention in the first chapter that yes, the chapter titles are named after songs. first chapter is "hero" by skillet, and this chapter is "barracuda" by heart

Dean was abruptly wrenched from somewhat peaceful slumber, groaning as the hand that had slapped him awake rained down another blow. He struggled against whatever held him but didn’t open his eyes, too exhausted to put in that much effort.

"Five more minutes, mom," he whined sarcastically, smiling slightly when he heard someone chuckle.

“Dean Winchester,” an unfamiliar voice said. Dean’s eyes finally snapped open at that, expertly scanning his surroundings. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see much in the weird lighting. A single light shone directly on him, but otherwise the room was dark, and Dean was unable to make out anything other than the chair opposite him and the silhouette of presumably an angel coming towards him.

His wrists and ankles were tied to the chair he was sitting in, but besides the rope burns that would surely appear if he kept writhing in them, he seemed to be healed completely. No cracked rib cage, no cuts on his face, no stab wound through his shoulder. His top layers of leather jacket, flannels, and boots were gone, too, leaving him only in his jeans. Weird.

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” he replied to the angel’s address of him in a dry tone, masking his fear with humor.

The angel chuckled, coming into full view. How the hell Dean had been slapped out of his slumber with the angel standing a bit away from him, Dean had no clue.

“You’re quite a riot, Dean,” the angel said, sitting in the chair. “However, I don’t think you’d be so funny if you could truly see me.”

“What? This,” Dean said, nodding his head toward the angel in the suit, “isn’t you?”

“It’s a vessel,” he said simply, and Dean scoffed.

“So you’re possessing some poor bastard,” he said, staring disgustedly at the angel. He rolled his eyes.

“He prayed for this. He likes it! But that’s not important, now, is it? My name is Zachariah. I am an angel--”

“Of the Lord, got it, man. So, it was great talking to ya, but I’ve got things to do, people to see, places to go--” Dean interrupted but was stopped when Zachariah glared at him and snapped his fingers. Immediately, Dean’s mouth shut, nearly biting his own tongue off in the process, and Dean growled in response. Zachariah simply raised his eyebrows and suddenly there was a pressure around Dean’s throat, a vice grip that wasn’t letting him breathe or make a sound.

Zachariah smiled, a terrible, sickening sight as Dean struggled helplessly. “I wish I could crush you like the gnat you are. Unfortunately, I have some questions for you, and I’d rather ask you questions and you answer them. Or, of course, I could torture you until you’re begging for death. Now, no need to rush. I do have plenty of time, and causing you pain would be a great pleasure to me.”

Dean gasped once the pressure left his throat. He coughed once, twice, before wheezing, “Bite me.”

“Very well, Dean. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Zachariah said while smirking and then used his powers to roll a table laid out with various instruments of causing pain towards him. “Let’s get started.”

~~~

Dean couldn’t remember what it was like to not scream.

Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration, but still very valid. Every breath hurt. Every inhale felt like acid burning down his throat.

Maybe that was because of the acid Zachariah had literally poured down his throat.

Both chairs in the room were long gone. Dean was tied to some kind of cross, his arms spread wide, exposing his chest and abdomen, now practically in ribbons because of Zachariah’s handiwork.

Zachariah grinned down at the blade he held in his hand, now covered in Dean’s blood. “Are we having fun yet?”

Dean tried to breathe, but found that he couldn’t. He was so, so close. To what, he wasn’t sure, but he suspected he would be going into shock in the next few seconds, and his eyes closed, because sleep… sleep sounded so good right now…

He felt the rush of that _something_ go through him again, and he coughed, shocked to discover that he no longer felt any acid in his throat and the wounds on his stomach were gone.

“How… how’d you do that?” Dean asked, panting. He looked at Zachariah in disbelief, too shocked to even thank him (sarcastically, of course).

Zachariah frowned at him. “You think you can ask questions and get answers when you won’t do the same for me?” Dean rolled his eyes but stayed silent. Zachariah sighed.

“Really, Dean, it’s a shame. You could be reunited with your father right now. He’s already told us much of what we need to know. You just need to fill in the pieces and play the part that destiny has assigned to you.”

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re full of shit. And destiny? Seriously? Next thing you’ll be doing is telling me to drink some green juice and all that New-Agey crap.”

Zachariah sniffed, the only sign that Dean’s words had any effect, and he spun around, making a large gash in Dean’s left cheek. Dean grunted in surprise but refused to scream, unwilling to give Zachariah that satisfaction. Zachariah twirled the blade against his temple and added a several more cuts on Dean’s face and neck, muttering something in another language. When he grew tired of watching Dean squirm in anticipation of something worse, because of course Zachariah would have worse things planned, Zachariah set the short knife on the table behind him and reached for his longer, thicker blade. He turned to watch as Dean’s breathing grew quicker and shallower in a clouded mix of fear and pain. 

Growling, Zachariah then thrust the blade into Dean’s abdomen. Dean could only gasp as Zachariah twisted it, not even having the energy to cry out.

“This, Dean, is an angel blade. If you were an angel, you would be dead by now. As it is, you’re nothing but a filthy ape, and you will live with the pain until you almost die, and then I will revive you, and we’ll restart the process until you decide to talk,” Zachariah snarled in Dean’s ear. Dean coughed as Zachariah pulled the blade out, choking slightly on his own blood. When he’d gotten as much control as he could over his breathing, he smirked.

“If I’m so worthless, then why keep me alive? You need me, and you know it,” Dean spoke clearly and smugly despite the pain, and Zachariah became furious. He gripped Dean by the throat.

“I would remember who you’re talking to. I could smite you this very second.”

“But you won’t,” Dean croaked, and Zachariah released him, shaking his head. 

“I think you need to be reminded of who you’re with.” Suddenly, bright light shone in the room as two distinct shadows of wings appeared behind Zachariah. The angel’s eyes glowed with his grace. Dean watched with squinted eyes and a bored look, but really he was intrigued. It wasn’t every day that you got to see a real angel and the shadow of their wings. He could only imagine what it would be like if he saw Zachariah without the vessel. He was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to see anymore.

“Cool magic trick, Zach,” Dean drawled sarcastically. “Can I leave now?”

Zachariah smiled a cruel twist of his lips that only held the promise of more pain to come. “You will learn, Dean Winchester. In an hour, in a day, in a week, in a year, you will learn, and you will obey.”

Dean remained silent as Zachariah stepped out of the room.

~~~

“What is that?” Castiel asked, tilting his head.

“What is what?” Uriel muttered, rolling his eyes. Castiel pointed towards Earth; specifically, towards the warehouse in Portland, Maine. Uriel didn’t understand why Castiel suddenly was so focused on the human being held captive there, but he shrugged.

“Zachariah’s torturing the human for information. His name is Dean Winchester,” Uriel said distractedly, turning his full attention back to the chart before him.

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, trying out the name, and the poor human’s soul seemed to flare out at specifically Castiel’s mention of its name. Interesting.

“Don’t get distracted, Castiel,” Uriel chided, and Castiel immediately focused back on the map in front of him.

But he couldn’t focus. His mind kept returning to the human’s dazzling soul. He wondered what had made it that bright white and what had made it almost reach out to Castiel, and strangely had the impulse to feel the human’s soul with his grace and brush against it.

So after checking that Uriel wasn’t watching, he did.

Dean gasped as something like an electric shock jolted through his body. His ears began ringing, his skin began burning, and he screamed through gritted teeth.

As soon as he noticed that the human was in pain, Castiel pulled back, and Dean panted for breath. After he’d recovered, Dean yelled, “You son of a bitch!” Castiel frowned, but was more focused on the changes occurring in his wings. For the briefest moment, his navy blue wings quivered as the very essence of Dean’s soul wrapped itself around them. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared. 

Dean took another shuddering breath as he relaxed as best as he could into the chains holding him up. He looked down to assess the stab wound in his stomach and winced when the action pulled at the gash there.

Blood flowed sluggishly out of it, but more worrying at the moment was the nausea accompanying his movements. It wouldn’t matter, though, if Zachariah was going to come back anyway. He figured the whole electric shock that had turned him into a human electrical plug for a moment was Zachariah’s doing, though he had a gut feeling that it was something different. However, there was no other explanation at the moment, so he rested his head against the wood and sighed.

Castiel was stunned. He’d never had this happen before. Then again, he’d never really interacted with humanity unless it was to stop them from doing something stupid or clean up one of their messes, but he had a feeling that the whole soul and grace interaction didn’t normally happen. No angel had ever had a bond with a human, except for Ishim, and he had, in his own words, “dealt with his human weakness” and, well, eliminated the human after being reprimanded for having the bond. Because to have a bond with a human, no matter how insignificant, was a sign of doubt and weakness, and Castiel would not be found weak.

Still, he was intensely curious, so after excusing himself from the map room, he went to his quarters. From there, he tried speaking to Dean.

“Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel. Can you hear me?” Castiel said, sending the soundwaves to Earth.

Dean had just closed his eyes before a sharp ringing began in the room. The ringing only grew louder, and soon the glass jars on the table in front of him shattered. Dean shouted in distress. 

Suddenly, Dean could hear words perfectly clearly, without any ringing.

“--Castiel. Can you hear me?” The voice said. Dean took deep breaths, trying to learn what the hell was going on.

“What the fuck is happening?” Dean yelled, but at whom, he wasn’t sure.

“Dean. Can you understand what I am saying?” Castiel said, excitement evident in his tone.

“Yes, I understand, douchebag. Who are you? What do you want?”

Castiel smiled. “My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.”

Dean rolled his eyes so hard that he thought they might stick in the back of his head. “Jesus Christ, what is it with you angels and flaunting your status or whatever? This is way too weird.”

“I apologize, Dean. I do not wish to cause you harm. I only desired to communicate with you.”

Before Dean could answer, Zachariah entered the room again.

“So, Dean Winchester. What have you been up to?” Zachariah grinned.

Dean didn’t respond, so Zachariah shrugged and picked up the angel blade.

“Let’s speed up the process of you dying. What do you say?” Zachariah said and after snapping his fingers, duct tape was keeping Dean from speaking.

“Oh, you don’t have any objections? Well, I am very pleased.” With that, Zachariah slashed Dean’s chest with the blade. Dean screamed behind the tape, hoping to God and maybe to this angel Castiel that the pain would stop sometime soon.

Before Zachariah could do anything else, a hand grabbed Zachariah’s wrist from behind him, wrenching the blade from his grasp. When Zachariah turned his back on his victim, Dean got a clear view of the newcomer. Black, messy hair, piercing and calculating blue eyes, and bank accountant attire. Interesting mix, but Dean was lost in that blue gaze as soon as it landed on him.

Castiel looked away from Dean and with confidence making his voice boom in the warehouse, said, "Get away from him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please please please leave kudos, comments, etc. i love hearing from everyone!!
> 
> you can reach me on wattpad: -demondean  
> you can reach me on tumblr: demondeano
> 
> thank you for reading!! have a lovely day/night :)


	3. Seven Nation Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel makes a drastic decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! sorry i havent updated in a while - with school, the musical, friends, rowing, and trips, life has been really hectic!!
> 
> this chapter's song is "Seven Nation Army" by The White Stripes
> 
> enjoy :)

Zachariah growled in annoyance. He twisted his arm out of Castiel’s grasp and faced him. 

“Castiel, don’t you have better things to do than interrupting the business of others which does not concern you?” Zachariah said through gritted teeth.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed and he let his angel blade drop into his hand as he faced Zachariah. “This human has done nothing wrong. Let him go. This is not right.”

Zachariah laughed. “Right? Who cares about what’s right? God is gone. Michael wants the Earth destroyed. I don’t think you should be worried about morality or righteousness.”

Castiel scoffed. “I don’t care for what you think.”

Zachariah stepped towards Castiel. “I think you should. You don’t quite understand the enormity of the situation. Michael, _our leader_ , has said that he wants this human fleabag. Dean here is to be Michael’s Sword. And once this world is gone, either God will come back and build a new one or we will finally be at peace. Regardless of whatever occurs after the inevitable, we will be finally able to rest. Better yet, we will be absolutely unstoppable. Think of it, Castiel. If you continue with the work you’re doing now, you will be the leader of your garrison. To be frank, I wouldn’t be surprised if Michael eventually made you his second-in-command. You have the drive and the intelligence. Don’t throw it all away for this one pathetic human.”

Dean struggled to make a noise of protest when Castiel looked at him. He tried to communicate with his eyes what he couldn’t with his words: _Help me_.

Castiel’s hard gaze switched back over to Zachariah, his decision made.

“You are probably correct.” Zachariah grinned while Dean frantically tried to break free in vain. Both stopped when Castiel spoke again, saying, “But I do believe that our Father is not gone, and I do believe that you are acting like a spoiled child.”

Zachariah growled, grabbing the nearest weapon, which happened to be a hammer, and swung at Castiel. Castiel ducked out of the way and spun towards Zachariah, thrusting out with his blade. Zachariah blocked his strike with the hammer. Castiel surged forward again, and because Castiel had moved so quickly, Zachariah was not expecting the strike. He grunted as the blade sliced through his jacket and skin on his arm, snarling as he stumbled back.

“You cannot win, Castiel. You are nothing compared to me,” he said, picking up his angel blade that Castiel had dropped in the midst of the fight. Dean could only watch as they went at it again, this time with the sound of angel blades striking one another in the room. At times, it seemed that Castiel had the upper hand, and Dean cheered him on in his thoughts. Other times, Zachariah seemed to be winning, and Dean was ready to start praying.

Finally, Castiel twisted his blade in such a way that Zachariah was forced to drop his. Before Zachariah could utter a single word, Castiel sunk the angel blade into his chest. Dean squinted as Zachariah’s grace shone brightly through his vessel’s eyes and mouth. Zachariah’s vessel crumpled against the concrete floor. 

Castiel turned to Dean. He briskly walked to the man staring at him equally in awe and something as close enough to fear as Dean Winchester could get. Castiel realized that his vessel’s features were still schooled into a cold frown, and he relaxed, trying to show through his body language that he meant no harm.

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, as if trying out the name on his vessel’s tongue. He pulled the tape off of Dean’s mouth none too gently, and Dean winced.

“Couldn’t have been a little nicer, huh?” Dean muttered, and Castiel narrowed his eyes, stepping up to Dean, his face inches from the human’s.

“You should have more respect. I can get you out, but I can just as easily leave you here.”

Dean rolled his eyes but said nothing as Castiel placed his fingers on Dean’s forehead and healed the man. Dean sighed as Castiel’s grace flowed through him, his demeanor completely changing from annoyed and maybe even slightly scared to calm and possibly content. Castiel was reluctant to pull away from Dean, as interacting with the human’s soul and body seemed to simultaneously comfort him and awaken a part of him that he didn’t know was asleep. Realizing that he had held his fingers against Dean’s forehead for far too long and that Dean had his eyes closed and his breathing was shallow and he was leaning into Castiel’s touch, Castiel pulled his hand away as if it had burned him. Dean choked on a breath, his eyes snapping open as Castiel’s grace was wrenched away from him. Castiel quickly busied himself with getting rid of the restraints holding Dean, his face burning with shame. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, mumbling his thanks as soon as he was free and standing shakily on his own two feet.

“Where’s my dad?” Dean said. Castiel’s eyes glowed with grace as he concentrated on finding Dean’s father, and Dean stepped back.

“Whoa, what--”

“Your father’s soul is in Heaven.”

“Wait, what?” Dean said with wide eyes. _Does that mean…?_

“Your father is dead, Dean.”

Dean blinked once, twice, before saying evenly, “He can’t be.”

Castiel moved toward Dean in an attempt to comfort him but wasn’t sure how to. “My deepest apologies. I forgot how… delicate human emotions can be. I admit I am not certain of how to proceed with this information.”

“He’s dead?” Dean said quietly. Castiel had an overwhelming urge to protect this fragile human from the pain he was experiencing but didn’t understand it. Jesus, he had just met the man! How could he be feeling emotions within minutes of knowing Dean, which he knew would only get him in trouble?

Still, Dean was staring at him with such sadness in his eyes that Castiel was confused. Hadn’t he just told Dean that his father had made it to Heaven?

“Yes, Dean. But he’s at peace in Heaven,” Castiel said, trying to appear gentle and reassuring but obviously failing, if Dean’s expression was anything to go by.

“So you’re telling me that he’s surrounded by a bunch of angels who just killed him? Why the hell would he be ‘at peace?’” Dean said. Castiel opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when the warehouse began to shake and loud rumbling sounded in the room.

“What’s happening?” Dean shouted over the noise. Castiel reached out and gripped Dean’s forearm, spreading his wings and flying them out of there fast.

When they arrived not even a second later at Dean’s Impala back in Boston once again, Dean doubled over and vomited. Castiel immediately leapt into action, easing Dean into a sitting position against his beloved car. Though Castiel was reluctant because of their earlier interaction, the human’s health mattered more than his discomfort so he pressed his hand against Dean’s forehead. He searched for any physical damage but found nothing. Tentatively, he viewed Dean’s soul with the help of his grace, and what he saw caused him to stumble back.

He saw nothing but pain in Dean’s soul. It wrapped around and clung to Dean’s very essence like a parasite, and Cas wanted nothing more than to rip away every shred of self-hatred and grief and worthlessness until nothing but the brilliance of Dean’s beautiful soul shone through.

But Castiel could not do that, not without changing the very core of who Dean was. So he cleaned the vomit off of Dean’s chin with the handkerchief he found in the inside pocket of his vessel’s trench coat, and let Dean cry and yell as much as he needed to. The poor human deserved that much.

~~~

When Dean woke up in a sitting position against the door of his car, he was alone. He stood up quickly but his head was pounding with a massive migraine that had him thinking he might throw up again. He looked around, squinting against the sunlight now shining through the tops of several buildings, and stopped short when he saw the burnt angel wings several feet away.

That was all it took for him to feel like his heart had been ripped out all over again.

“What do you want from me, you sick fucks?” He screamed at the sky. He tugged at his hair with tears in his eyes. Shit, his father was _dead_. And when he really thought about it, he knew that it was his fault.

Eventually, he got in the Impala which, as a wave of nausea rolled over him, smelled a lot like his dad. Deciding not to dwell too much on that lest he make himself dizzy with grief again, Dean realized he really needed to take a shower, and he sped off to his motel.

~~~

“Dean Winchester? What the hell are you callin’ me for?” Bobby asked, his voice gruff and familiar after Dean dialled his uncle’s number.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean replied in a soft voice. Bobby knew from Dean’s tone that something was off right away.

“What’s wrong, boy?”

Dean huffed out a cold laugh. “God, I don’t even know where to start. You mind if I head out your way?”

Bobby sighed, recognizing that he wouldn’t get a word out of Dean until he saw the kid with his own two eyes.

“Not at all, Dean. I’ll be here. Let me know when you’re close.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“No worries, son. You drive safe, alright?”

Dean nodded though his uncle couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I will.”

“See you soon.”

“See you.”

Dean quickly packed his duffel and slung it over his shoulder, briefly checking the room over to make sure he’d left nothing behind. He dropped the keys for the room off at the front desk and after getting in his car, pulled away from Boston and towards Sioux Falls.

~~~

To say Castiel was furious was an understatement.

His thundering footsteps echoed in the white hallways of Heaven and younger fledglings cowered in fear. His wings were thrown wide in a display of power and aggression, and his blue eyes seemed to bore into every angel in his path. Those angels scurried out of his way, and finally he reached Uriel’s quarters. He barged into his leader’s room, growling, “What do you want from Dean Winchester?”

Uriel rolled his eyes as he finished writing an order to a different angel. “Don’t worry about the human, Castiel,” he said.

Castiel moved forward but was stopped by an invisible force before he could reach Uriel.

“Besides,” Uriel said with a twisted grin as he turned in his chair, watching as Castiel struggled to walk forward, “I think you should be worried about what you’ve done.”

Castiel scoffed. “What I’ve done? This hypocrisy, coming from the angel who’d rather take bribes and become corrupt to reach power rather than lead by honest example, I must say, is not very impressive to me, Uriel.”

Uriel chuckled coldly. “And you’re innocent? You’ve been fraternizing with that human, and you killed our brother. You are hereby stripped of your--”

“No!” Castiel shouted as his grace shone through his eyes. Uriel was smart enough to look slightly worried as his best soldier, possibly stronger than himself, summoned his strength and with a yell let out a burst of his energy, causing Uriel to stagger back.

“Zachariah was torturing Dean Winchester for no other reason than your own twisted desires,” Castiel snarled, stalking towards Uriel as he’d broken out of the hold Uriel had held him in. “You didn’t need to torture him. You easily could have extracted information that you already had from his head. No, this was a display of power, wasn’t it? You want him to be scared so that he’ll do whatever you want? Well, let me tell you, Uriel,” Castiel said, punching Uriel’s cheek, “you’ll never win.”

Before he could strike again, however, several angels burst into the room and grabbed Castiel’s wings, twisting them back and causing him to cry out. He fell to his knees but stared up at Uriel in defiance.

“Let me tell you, Castiel,” Uriel said with a smirk. “I’ll be seeing you in court.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, please leave kudos and comments!! they really mean so so much and i appreciate each one!!
> 
> you can find me on  
> wattpad: -demondean  
> tumblr: demondeano
> 
> thank you all and i'll see ya next weekend!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! 
> 
> come yell at me on wattpad! - my username is -demondean (yes, the dash is intentional)


End file.
